


What I'd Be Without You

by fictorium



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Background Het, Canon Het Relationship, F/F, F/M, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia and Mellie have made their share of mistakes, not least in their choice of men. Perhaps in choosing each other, they can resurrect something beautiful, something that's just theirs, from all the years of scandal. Spoilers through 4x09.</p><p>For the lovely alinaandalion<br/>
I haven't done a '5 Times' fic in ages, so please indulge me?</p><p>Five Times Olivia and Mellie Might Have Become a Thing, and that Other Time When They Actually Do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I'd Be Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alinaandalion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinaandalion/gifts).



> My first foray into Mellivia after years spent in a Swan Queen bubble. New fandoms are hard, be kind? But constructive criticism is always gratefully received. 
> 
> While I want it to be as femslashy as possible, it's difficult when canon het relationships are so prevalent. Fitz hangs over them like a sulky, impulsive, horny ghost I'm afraid. Still, the ladies find their way to each other, and all het stuff is background. Just in case you don't like that sort of thing.

~ 1 ~

"I don't know what I would do without you," Mellie admits, her pitch still high as she pulls Olivia into a reluctant embrace. "I just know when those doors opened and I saw him pawing at you, I..."

"He's drunk, Mellie," Olivia reminds her. "I could have been anyone just then."

"You're not just anyone to us, Liv," Mellie whispers, and somehow it isn't weird that this is the first genuine hug that they've ever shared, and that Mellie is showing little sign of letting go anytime soon. "You get that, right?"

"I'm flattered that you think I'm such an asset to the campaign," Liv hedges, because she might be imagining this sudden excess of warmth from Mellie, the very model of Southern lady sangfroid. "But I'm here because I want to be. Because Governor Grant should be our next President."

"I wonder," Mellie asks, pulling back at last and appraising Olivia with a raking gaze. "Am I really your next First Lady? Or does that position not hold enough power for you to care?"

"FLOTUS could be an exceptional position. Handled correctly."

"And Olivia Pope handles things. Correctly?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Then Mellie's cheek is pressed against her own, freezing Olivia's breath in her throat. The flutter of contact won't leave even a smudge of lipstick, not this late in the day when all but the last professional vestiges of makeup have worn away, but it feels like a brand against soft skin.

The elevator pings and they're somehow back on the right floor. 

"Fitz is more like his father than he'll ever admit. You...you should probably know that about him, is all."

"We'll all have forgotten about this by morning," Olivia promises, and it doesn't really matter that she means Fitz's drunken disgrace and not the moment passing between them now. If she wants to remember this, and the press of Mellie's body against her own, then there's nothing that anyone can do to stop her.

~2~

There's an eerie calm in the hospital now. The Secret Service have fully taken control of the wing, and patients have been shipped out left, right and center by their protesting doctors. Sometimes, Mellie considers, protocol is a wonderful thing. A piece of paper (especially one backed up by so many men with guns) that lets you have exactly what you need in these most trying of times: space.

In here, there's no daylight to mark the passing hours. Has it been twelve minutes or half a day since she addressed the press? Hopeful lies on her lips and a twist of a smile that's enough to stop Sally Langston storming the Oval with an axe, but never so much of a smile to suggest that watching her husband fight for life is a pleasure for Mellie.

She expected it to be. The lies, the sneaking, the cheap and tawdriness of the fling to get over Olivia. That's damage Mellie knows they'll never repair. She made room for Olivia, discreetly. Then those selfish egomaniacs decided that wasn't enough for their dewy-eyed, romantic fuckfest, and Mellie's been on damage control ever since. This baby, another grasping and suckling infant to be placed at the teat, to sap another eighteen years of energy and reluctant love from her when she should be lining up a place in the Senate or at State - hell, perhaps even a return to Sacramento wouldn’t be the worst idea. 

Her solitude is interrupted again by Olivia.

"You did good."

Mellie doesn't thank her. That's not who they are anymore. 

"I begged him not to go. We were in the car and it was slowing down. I said I didn't want to go."

"It's not your fault, Mellie." Olivia sits, her perch tentative as she reaches for Mellie's hand. It would be so easy to deny herself this comfort, but Mellie finds herself pathetically unable to resist.

"I know. I didn't think it was." It should have been a rebuke, the snapping that comes so easily in these recent weeks of swollen ankles and constant headaches. Instead it's a plea for sympathy, and Olivia is the first person in too long to actually hear it.

"Everything at the White House is... well. Fine is an overstatement. I checked with the doctors on the way in. They said..."

"No news," Mellie confirms. "I'm supposed to think that's good news, right?"

Olivia extends her other hand, and though it trembles in the air for a moment, she lays it gently on Mellie's considerable bump.

"I feel responsible for this little one, too," Olivia whispers. "Did this really all happen because we made a pact and--"

"It happened because it happened. Who knows anymore?" This time, Mellie sounds exactly as tired as she feels. “Maybe it goes all the way back to Defiance. Maybe before that.”

“I’m sorry.” Olivia says it quietly, but her resolve seems firm. What she’s apologizing for, Mellie can’t be sure, but after this long it’s something. A band aid on a gushing artery, perhaps, but it’s better than nothing at all. (And really, it hasn’t gushed for quite some time. It’s little more than a trickle, because if nothing else, Mellie has learned to adjust her expectations.)

So she takes Olivia’s hand. If Mellie turns just a fraction of an inch towards her, it surely isn’t intentional.

“Will you wait with me?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

~3~

Fitz takes his leave, jacket and all. Olivia gathers herself, the high collar of her coat is stifling even in the cool, recycled air of the bunker. She wonders what it would be like to spend the days and weeks of a crisis here, in this underground complex. She’s seen the government-issue ration packs, the bottled water that takes up as much space as her apartment building. Thankfully, maybe, she won’t ever find out now. The end of the world at Fitz’s side seems like the only place she should want to be, but they’ve proven today that it can’t ever work as long as Mellie is right there on the other side.

Olivia is tired of sharing. Hell, she’s tired of a lot more than that. It’s only when Mellie pricks at her, calls her names that don’t register coming from anyone else, that Olivia thinks there might be some fight left in her. It’s then, as if summoned by thought, that Mellie reappears through her own steel door.

“Nice reunion?” Mellie asks with a sneer. “Because if we’re increasing it to three times, instead of two, you really should tell me that kind of thing.”

“Nothing happened,” Olivia sighed. “And if you think you can get some more shots in because Fitz isn’t here…”

“I could care less if he’s here or not,” Mellie admits. “I can hardly bear to look at him right now.”

“So you thought you’d come look at me instead?”

“Why not? I can’t deny my philandering husband has decent taste.”

“Careful, Mellie.” Olivia can feel her spine straighten at the possibility of a fair fight. “You might remember you used to like me.”

“This might be the last time we find ourselves in the same room,” Mellie muses, something amused but possibly dangerous flickering behind her eyes. “At least until the inevitable stage-managed handshakes a few months from now, the ‘chance’ meeting that shows the country it’s time to move on.”

“You should really be in my job,” Olivia replies. “Sometimes I think I missed a trick not turning Fitz down and poaching you for my firm.”

“At least with me it would have been an equal partnership.”

“Like the one you have right now?”

Somehow the space between them has evaporated again, though Olivia could swear she didn’t consciously take a step. 

“You realize you actually have to stay away from him now?” Mellie murmurs. “The press will be on your trail like bloodhounds, and I won’t hesitate to give them a few breadcrumbs if you both betray me again.”

“I know what it takes to get my life back.” Olivia is firm in her conviction. Right now, faced with Mellie in her incandescent rage, it’s hard to remember the pull of Fitz at all. Perhaps it’s something about the Grants, plural, that Olivia is magnetized for. Perhaps she’s just bound to them in the context of bad ideas. That’s probably why she reaches out, laying a surprisingly dry palm on Mellie’s cheek. “I made a promise this time. He might break them left, right, and center; I don’t.”

“Sometimes I think you must hate him as much as I do,” Mellie sighs. “The only trouble is we both love him at the same time.”

~4~

“You helped her.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You think my husband’s the only one who can sneak out of the White House?” Mellie is strutting somewhat, but Olivia can see the unease that sits just below the surface. Gone is the robe, and the hair is just a little short of its usual bouffant state, but the mask is firmly back in place. Olivia wants to tell her it isn’t necessary, but with Mellie this fragile it’s far too big a risk to take. “How did you get them to kill the story?”

“Does it matter? It’s handled. And so is Karen. You stepped up. That’s more important, in the long run.”

“Don’t tell me how to mother my children,” Mellie snaps. “I might not be a natural, but I’m three ahead of you, however you slice it. Well, two.”

Until this moment, Olivia thought she understood what people meant by a ‘hollow laugh’; she hears now that she had no clue. Part of her reaches for Mellie instinctively, the warm and easy gestures of the campaign coming back when they’re needed most. The simple affection from a time before lines were crossed and everything got so damn sneaky and Shakespearian. 

“I know I said it before--”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Mellie isn’t pleading, but it’s not so far away from it. “I can’t bear to hear that pointless sentiment one more time. If I add up all your sorrow, all the great and worthy people that it didn’t happen to, what will that buy me in return? Not a nickel’s worth of anything that’s worth a damn. So do me a favor? Spare me the pity.”

“I don’t pity you,” Olivia admits. “I never could.”

If Mellie is shocked by that revelation, she hides it masterfully. Olivia wishes she could teach her clients these unspoken skills, this level of decorum despite the often raging crazy that simmers underneath. 

“Whatever you did to get Karen… that video… I want you to send it to me. A copy of whatever you had them sign, of whatever you showed them. Cyrus isn’t as reliable as he used to be, but there’s always Secret Service. They just love you, right?”

“Do they?”

“I think they prefer trips to Vermont where the biggest threat is some foliage.”

“If you say so.”

“You’ll send the files?”

“Okay.”

Mellie hesitates, manners competing with something Olivia doesn’t recognize in her expression.

“Thank you. It means a lot, Liv. I need to know how well my baby is protected, so I can keep protecting her. You get that, right?”

“Sure,” Olivia says, although she doesn’t supply the fact that there are less than a handful of people she would secure that protection for, and somehow the woman standing opposite her became one of them. “So, do we hug now? Is that too weird?”

“No weirder than anything else.”

Mellie’s touch isn’t light and formal this time, this isn’t the fleeting embrace of a ropeline or a charity luncheon. Olivia extends her arms willingly, squeezing Mellie’s body with genuine feeling for once. That she’s hugged just as tightly in return almost takes her breath away, and but for the agents lurking in the doorway, they might just forget to let go for a long time. 

“I’ll get those files to you in the morning,” Olivia mutters as Mellie reluctantly withdraws. 

Mellie nods, and with the speed that only armed escorts can provide, she’s gone from Olivia’s apartment and swallowed up by the night. 

~5~

She’s expecting Jake. She’s hoping for Fitz. The last person - well, second or third-to-last person - she’s expecting to greet her in the debriefing suite is Mellie Grant. A furious, pant-suited and downright furious Mellie Grant at that.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Olivia rasps, her throat not yet recovered from so many days of surviving on drips of water. “Underground bunkers are so two years ago.”

“Fitz wanted to be here,” Mellie begins, like she’s addressing the DAR at a cocktail reception. Even her pacing is measured, formal, the click of her heels as regular as any clock. The room is conspicuously lacking in any such way of telling time. Olivia shudders at what kind of questioning requires that much disorientation. “Unfortunately he’s been detained. They’re trying to find a way that he can kill our Vice President and make it look like an accident.”

“Andrew did this?”

“It turns out there’s almost no end to what we didn’t know about that snake. And yes, I’m especially mortified, considering.”

“We all make mistakes.” Olivia wants to laugh, but she catches herself in time. “He really couldn’t be here?” Damn. She doesn’t mean for her voice to break on that last word. 

Mellie’s smile may be tight, but at least it’s understanding. 

“You get used to it.”

“What’s with the debriefing crap anyway? They have to know all I want is a long bath and--”

“A decent bottle of red? I mentioned you might. But no one knows the full extent of this little network. You might have seen or heard something that helps, so...”

Olivia nods in understanding. “Always in service of the Republic?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you ever think how normal people would just die laughing if they heard the way we talk about all this?” Olivia is too tired for filters, and it’s been too long since hot water or soap, to boot. 

“Only most of the time. Usually when I’m handed some ‘prepared remarks’. That happened a lot less when you worked here, for the record.” Mellie rounds the table this time, and she’s definitely checking Olivia’s exposed shoulder for bruises before reaching out with a gentle squeeze. “After what you did for Karen… what you did for me, telling Fitz… if anything happened that isn’t going in your report, well. I think you know what I’m offering.”

“I do.” Olivia blinks back unexpected but grateful tears. “And I appreciate it. That might have to wait for one of those bottles of red though, okay?”

Mellie blinks once, twice, and it’s all the acknowledgment that’s needed. Any further conversation is interrupted by the CIA Director making his appearance, trying and failing to look humble behind a file folder and the glasses that he refuses to wear on camera any other time. 

“Ms. Pope?”

Mellie withdraws her hand, and Olivia mourns the loss of contact. 

“I can stay. Ms. Pope should have an attorney present.”

Olivia can’t resist one good dig. “I think I’d prefer one who passed the DC bar.”

Mellie smirks. It’s the best response Olivia could hope for, and she’s finding this familiar back-and-forth so much easier than the constant tension around Fitz or Jake. Maybe after all this, all they’ve ever been able to give her is sex. Great sex, sure, but maybe it’s time to start hoping for something more. In addition. Or. Um. Well.

Wow, a few days in captivity and Olivia’s mind is really flipping out on her. She summons her features into a calm mask, her smile practiced and professional, giving nothing away. If Mellie and her great perfume that Olivia never thought to ask the name of, and her perfect goddamned clothes, will just leave the room, Olivia can get back to thinking, well, straight.

This isn’t Princeton, she reminds herself, and Mellie finally starts moving towards the exit. Experimentation and bad ideas belong in a different world to this.

“Check in with me later, Liv,” Mellie says softly, her hand on the door. “There’s an agent to take you home, after. I gave him a number.”

“I’m supposed to believe you want to hear from me?” 

“Try going a week without knowing if you’re alive or dead. It focuses the mind.” Mellie’s nonchalance is almost perfect, and so completely transparent that Olivia has to stifle a giggle. Whoever thought they’d end up here?

“I’ll call.” Olivia doesn’t make promises lightly. She built a career on never promising more than she was absolutely sure she could deliver; it’s why she’s the very best at what she does. “Later.”

Mellie pushes the door and disappears once more. Olivia wonders if she’ll ever get used to being the one left behind.

 

~6~

Mellie has been quite specific that tonight she should not be disturbed, not unless Karen or Teddy is in immediate danger, but the goddamned agents never damn well listen to a word she says. 

That’s why when Olivia comes storming through the doors of the Presidential bedroom, Mellie can barely muster the will to glower over the rim of her crystal tumbler, one that until recently contained a few generous fingers of Scotch.

“He really did it.”

“Aren’t you sick of talking about him? I know I am.” Mellie swings her feet off the bed, padding barefoot to the decanter in the sitting area, almost empty where it sits proudly on the coffee table. “So other than that, what brings you here Ms. Pope?”

“Don’t Ms. Pope me,” Olivia snarls, and Mellie chalks up a tiny mental victory. “Do you even realize what he’s done? We’re all exposed. Any last hope you had for a private moment is gone, and your husband has handed over the keys.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Mellie scolds, and any other time she might enjoy being so deliciously out of it, being so calm when the great savior Olivia Pope is so very close to out of control. “He’s way more your problem than mine, Liv. I just married the idiot, but you stick around even without a legal bond. You must really want to make that jam, huh?”

“Like hell.” 

Olivia is majestic like this, and probably doesn’t even know it. She paces the room in her perfectly-tailored shift dress, steps barely faltering despite an already long day spent on those killer heels. There’s even - Mellie can’t quite believe her eyes - a hint of a run in the stocking on Olivia’s left leg, and that leads to a curious glance upwards. Mellie can’t help but notice that the chaos of the evening has rumpled the dress, and there’s half an inch of exposed skin on Olivia’s thighs each time she turns and resumes pacing. It’s enough to make a mouth go dry, and Mellie remembers she set out in search of a refill.

“Want one?” Mellie asks, ever the hostess, ever the gracious Southern belle. Olivia shakes her head, her usually perfect bangs unsettled as they land against her forehead. Mellie feels strongly that she should reach out and smooth the hair back down, but the distraction of thinking that allows Olivia to take Mellie’s glass from her, downing the contents in one swallow. “Hey!”

“I’m cutting you off,” Olivia sighs. “I need a partner in crime tonight, not a lush.”

“Stop.” If she’s begging, Mellie is past caring. “Stop trying to save him. How many times is he going to detonate his career and have one or both of us dragging him clear of the wreckage? I told you before that I was tired? Liv, that’s nothing on how I feel now.”

Olivia looks on in horror, as if the very idea of such disloyalty is poisoning her, as if it’s like acid on her tongue. When she answers, her voice is the voice from the bunker, a victim seeing the light after too many days in the shadows.

“I, uh… me too.” Her laugh is faintly hysterical, a secret revealed after years of covering up and smoothing out. Mellie instantly wants to hear it again. “Oh God, you’re right. What’s the point? We gave up everything. You, me, Cyrus… do I need to make a list? And still, we end up here again and again because he can’t control his temper.”

“Or his overbearing sense of righteousness. Can’t forget that.” Melle shrugs in half a challenge, because she knows Olivia can’t deny it. “So why are you here, Liv? There’s no fire to put out. He’s burning it all down from Beijing, of all places.”

“I think I came to check on you,” Olivia finally admits, the words an exhalation into her chest as she looks firmly down at the floor. “Or maybe I just wanted to find the one other person who’d be as pissed and as hurt as I am.”

“I guess that’s always been me,” Mellie offers, taking her empty glass from Olivia’s hand, setting it aside. “You told me before that I wasn’t to blame. For the shooting, for… well, for more than that. You have to know that none of this is your fault either. You did more than most people would have, hell, more than most of them could have. This is on him and we’re…”

“We’re the ones still standing here.”

“Right.” Mellie doesn’t remember the embrace starting, it’s just a simple arranging of arms and bodies to generate a little comfort, to feel just a little less alone as they stare once more into an abyss that nobody ever wanted to cross. “Although standing seems a little more work than it used to.”

It’s not so strange that Olivia takes that hint to lead Mellie towards her own bed, towards her marital bed that’s currently as cold and empty as her marriage vows turned out to be. 

“Are we…?” Olivia asks, her eyes dark and shining with more questions than they’ll ever have time to ask, never mind answer. “I want to. I think you want to? If you kiss me right now, I fully intend to kiss you back.”

“You’re strategizing a first kiss? God, Liv. You’re off the clock.”

The laughter is welcome, a pressure valve letting off steam for both of them. They’re sitting on the bed, sheets rumpled, clinging to each other to ride it out. It means they’re even closer than before, and the kiss when it comes is neither shy nor tentative; it’s been a long time since they knew how to be either of those things. 

“Don’t mention--”

“Me and you,” Mellie assures. “Right now, we’re the only two people in the world.”

Olivia doesn’t mention if the pillow smells like his shampoo when her head hits it, but that could be because her mouth is otherwise occupied, kissing a determined line along Mellie’s jaw. She hadn’t intended to be on top, and knowing Olivia, Mellie won’t stay there for long. It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to look down for a moment and see this gorgeous woman beneath her. This powerhouse, this powerbroker, stolen from Fitz’s clutches at last.

She shakes her head. They’re not talking about him, not anymore. And if getting him out of her head takes longer, she’s going to start trying right in this very moment. Olivia deserves that much and hell, Mellie does too.

“The press would combust on the spot if they could see you undressing me,” Olivia whispers, turning gently to give Mellie access to the zipper on her dress. “If you thought we’d lived through Scandal before.”

“I don’t plan on stopping,” Mellie reminds her. “Not even if CNN set up a live feed from the nightstand.”

“You’d better not,” Olivia’s warning becomes a contented sigh as Mellie rakes her once-perfect manicure down the exposed skin of Olivia’s back.

“I never did work out what I’d do without you,” Mellie confesses, the vulnerability of it smothered in the kisses she trails down Olivia’s spine.

“Oh,” Olivia cries, as Mellie’s hands start caressing her thighs. “I have a funny feeling you’re never going to find out.”


End file.
